disclaimer: glee is not mine


Quinn Fabray calls her up on an early, Saturday morning in the middle of the summer and invites her to the county fair with her and her sweetheart, Noah. That's what she calls him, her sweetheart, no matter how much he hates it. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"No," Quinn assures her, "Noah's friend is in town for the summer, and he's coming along. Please, Rachel!"

She sighs, asks her father for permission, and agrees. Of course, she leaves out the details about the boys. He is far too overprotective sometimes, and she wants to get out of the house tonight.


"Goodness, Rachel," Quinn begins, "you look lovely tonight!" Rachel blushes, smiles, and relays the compliment to Quinn. "Rachel, you already know Noah, but this is his friend Finn Hudson." She gestures to the tall boy standing beside Noah. He smiles at her and grasps her hand.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Rachel," he says, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

She blushes to the tips of her toes, "Likewise." He's handsome, she realizes as he releases her hand, with combed brown hair and light amber eyes. He's much too tall for her, though, as he looms nearly a foot above her.

Noah and Quinn lead the way to the Ferris wheel, and she trails behind them beside Finn. "So," she begins, glancing up at him, "where are you from?"

"From a real small town in Ohio," he explains, and his elbow brushes hers as he lifts his arm to smooth his hair. "But my aunt lives here in New York, and I'm visiting her for the summer."

"Is Ohio terribly boring? I have heard very few things."

He laughs, "It is pretty boring, but I like it well enough. Not much to do, though. Not like here."

Quinn turns around suddenly and yells, "Come on, you two, I want to get on the ride before the fair closes!"

They glance at each other and laugh, and he laces his fingers with hers as they run to catch up to Quinn.


"So, Miss Rachel Berry," Finn starts as the night comes to a close, "what would you say to going on a date tomorrow night?"

"It depends."

"On?" He gives her that playful grin, and she wants to agree right on the spot.

"Well, Finn Hudson, I don't know you that well. How do I know you aren't going to stand me up? After all, you are an older man."

"Now, it is only one year," he says, "I promise you, I will not stand you up. How could I stand up a great girl like you?"

She feels her face warm with a blush, and she nods, "You have me convinced."

"May I walk you home, then? And I will pick you up promptly at five tomorrow. You have my word." He holds out his arm, and after a momentary internal debate, she grasps it.

The journey to her house is quiet. She is much too tired to hold up any worthwhile conversation and rests her head against his arm as they walk. Still, it's a nice silence, and her heart sinks when they reach her house. He walks her to the door, and for a moment, she worries that he is going to kiss her.

He leans in, and when his lips are a breath away from hers, angles his head so his lips fall on her cheek. "Finn," she whispers as he pulls away. He places his hand on her cheek and smiles sweetly at her.

"I will see you tomorrow, Rachel," he says, drops his hand from her face, and walks away.


Later that night, a cool breeze wafts into her bedroom along with the smell of rain. She breathes in deep and glances at her face in the reflection. Half of her long, dark hair is pulled into curlers, while the other half hangs over her shoulder. She's distracted, and finds her mind wandering far beyond its usual pastures.

She can't stop imagining him courting her and asking her to be his girl, and even how it would feel for him to kiss her. She's never been kissed by a boy before, she only knows what Quinn has told her. She wants to try, though, and she knows that Finn is going to be her first kiss. Somehow, after one night together, he's already woven himself into her heart.


"I had a lovely time tonight, Finn," she says softly as he begins walking her back to her house. The crickets sing a symphony around them, and he eases his fingers into hers.

"Rachel?" He stops walking and tugs her close, and it's completely dark save for the dim streetlight across the street. His hands find purchase on her slender waist, and he pulls her closer still.

The butterflies in her stomach flutter quickly as her arms wrap around his neck, her reply lost as he slowly leans in and kisses her on the mouth. His hands squeeze her waist tightly as his lips move insistently over hers, and oh, this is what Quinn meant when she talked about knowing the right boy's identity. All previous thoughts fly from her mind, and she's completely consumed by him.

She pulls away slightly for a quick breath, still wrapped up in his arms. His eyes open slowly, and his lips spread into a grin. Neither of them moves, just stare at one another, and before she knows it, her lips are back in his. His hand reaches up to grasp her cheek, and her hands fall to the lapels of his suit jacket.

Too soon, he pulls away from her, and kisses her forehead. "Goodness, Rachel," he murmurs, "You sure are something."

She wraps her arms around his waist and rests against his chest. He seems somewhat surprised, somehow, but wraps his arms around her nonetheless. "Something good, I hope."

He laughs breathily, "Yes, you…you are definitely something good." And he pulls her chin up and kisses her squarely on the mouth.


Three weeks later, he asks her to go steady, and naturally, she agrees with a kiss. "Hmm," she murmurs against his mouth, "I like kissing."

"Do you?" He says lowly as his lips sneak down her neck.

"Yeah," she sighs, curling her fingers into his hair as he kisses the junction between her neck and shoulder, before pulling his face back to hers.

They spend a lot of time kissing, in her living room, on the front porch, and sometimes, she even sneaks him into her bedroom. That doesn't happen often, but when it does, she feels a sort of overwhelming satisfaction—she feels like an adult.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" She asks him, in one of the rare moments when they aren't kissing. They're lying on her front yard on a homemade blanket, he's on his back and she's on her stomach.

"Hmm," he hums, "I'm already grown up."

She knows he hates talking about the future—his future, precisely. But she needs to know that this is going somewhere, somewhere beyond a transient fling. "Finn," she says softly, nearly whining, but she gives him her best puppy dog eyes and he finally gives in.

"I don't know, baby," he says honestly, "Maybe I'll stay here, or maybe I'll head back to Ohio."

"You—you want to stay here?"

"'Course," he murmurs. He rolls onto his side and props himself up on an elbow, sticking out a hand to touch her face. She scoots close to him and tilts her chin to kiss him softly and slowly.

She wants to be able to explain these feelings in her gut, the way her heart hammers when he's close (or even when she just thinks about him). Her chest thrums as he pulls her closer and slips his tongue into her mouth. She groans as his teeth clang against hers and pulls away to breathe, and, as usual, his lips trail down her neck.

His teeth pinch at her skin and she squeals, slapping his chest lightly, because these small bruises are hard to cover up in the dead of summer. "Sorry, baby," he says cheekily, and a small part of her knows he's not sorry at all. She lies back on her stomach, and he rests his hand on her back. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

She smiles, "I want to be a singer, like Judy Garland."

He leans over and kisses her cheek. "You will be. Will you sing for me?" She sighs and pretends to be upset, but can't stop the smile from pulling at her lips. He rests his head in her lap and she begins to sing sweetly.


They don't often talk about the war in Europe, or the possibility of America joining. But before they know it, the leaves are starting to turn, and Finn has to make a choice, to return to Ohio or stay in New York while she finishes her last year of high school.

One night, they fight about it, and she walks away without resolving anything. But later, while she's tossing and turning in bed, she hears tapping at her window—almost like rocks are being thrown at it. Frightened, she hops out of bed and steps toward the window, nervously staring down, and then she sees him, hands in pockets, staring up at her window.

Angry that he would risk waking her father, she storms downstairs, only for him to take her by surprise as he pulls her into his arms and kisses her, mouth moving over hers insistently. "Finn, what are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize for the fight we had earlier. Rachel, this summer has been the best of my life. I've never been happier than I am with you. And I want you to know that I love you."

She freezes, and then it feels like she's imploding, her body has so many reactions. "You—you—"

He laughs and kisses her again, grasping her face in his hands. "I love you, you silly girl."

"Finn," she whispers, "I—I love you too."

His grin is so wide, then, and he kisses her again, and again, and they kiss until the dew forms beneath their feet, parting reluctantly at her door. She knows this is the start of forever.


"I can't believe I'm a high school graduate," Rachel sighs happily, curling under Finn's arm on the couch in her living room. Her father has long since gone to sleep, all of her friends have left, and it's just her and Finn, now. He leans down and kisses her slowly, his big hand sliding down her shoulder and cupping her elbow, and then tugs her hand into his.

He pulls away and smiles at her. "Rachel, I love you," he starts. "And I'm wondering if—well, would you marry me?"

His fingers bashfully produce a ring, a somewhat simple ring with a diamond in the center. She flings her arms around his neck and kisses him, whispering, "Yes," into his mouth. He slips the ring onto her finger and hugs her tightly.


"Hey, doll," he says, sitting in a seat beside her at her kitchen table, "how're you doin' with the wedding plans?"

She sighs and shrugs, "It's hard, because I just want it to all be finished. We have three weeks, Finn, that's it, and I feel like it's not going to work out the way we want."

"Do you have your dress yet?" He inquires, trailing his fingers down her arm, before resting on her hand and intertwining their fingers.

"Yes," she responds, "and no, you may not see it."


"No," she shakes her head, curls bouncing over her shoulders as she does so, "we have to follow tradition."

He groans playfully, bringing her hand to his lips as a Cole Porter song crackles over the radio. "Mmm," he sighs, "do you want to dance, love?" She nods and smiles as he holds out his hand to her.

He winds his arms around her waist, and they sway slowly in the kitchen to the tune of the old love song, his lips at her ear, whispering the lyrics as they dance.


He kisses her cheek repeatedly, his hand clasped over hers on a shared champagne glass. The summer is waning, but the night is young (at least for them), and he takes her by the hand and leads her away, waving goodbye to all their friends and family.

They don't have much money, or an adequate place to live quite yet, but she knows no matter what, as long as she has him, she'll be happy.

His hands are sure in hers as he pushes open a door to a room at an inn, a wedding gift from her father, and he kisses her slowly in the door's threshold. "Rachel," he groans, walking forward with her and kicking the door shut behind him. His arms scoop her into his embrace, knocking her against his chest, and he's still kissing her as he sets her on her feet in front of the bed.

Hands fumbling, he unzips the lacy white gown, slipping the material off her shoulders and down her body. She flushes, heat rising on her face as he stares at her tenderly. It's the first time he has seen her with so little clothing on, and he whispers a reverential, "you're beautiful," but she still yearns to cover up her body.

Suddenly, they're both naked and on the bed, and he's trailing kisses down her collarbone and in the valley between her breasts, her heart fluttering like a bird beneath her sternum. He murmurs how much he loves her as he hovers above her, kissing away her stray tears.


They tune in anxiously to President Roosevelt's broadcast the day after the Pearl Harbor attacks in Hawaii. Rachel's hands tremble as she clutches Finn's arm, waiting for the President to make his announcement—an announcement she can already predict. Her stomach churns nervously, and she nearly vomits when the President asks for Congress to declare war.

When the broadcast ends, Finn's arm is still around her, and she feels her entire body tense up as he turns to her with a look of steely determination. "Rachel," he begins, and she knows what he's going to say.

"No." She shakes her head and recoils from his touch. "No, Finn." She crosses her arms and turns away from him, already feeling the tears welling in her eyes. She can't—she can't lose him. He'll go off to war, and forget all about her, and he'll die without spending the rest of his life with her.

He sneaks up behind her and winds his arms around her, hugging her against his chest, whispering, "I'm so sorry, baby girl, I'm so sorry."


She can't say goodbye. He can't stop kissing her, tangling his hands in her hair and pressing her into the doorway. And she doesn't want to cry anymore, because she's spent so much time curled up beside him, letting her tears fall, and she wants to be the strong one, because he needs her, but as soon as he pulls away and tries to smile at her, his eyes wet with tears, she feels that resolve crumble and buries her face in his chest.

"I've got to go, doll," he murmurs, kissing her forehead and then her lips, one last time, "I love you."

She bites her lip and hugs him tight, "I love you too."

It takes all his strength to let go of her, and he turns out of their room in the boarding house. "Finn!" She calls, and he turns to meet her gaze. "I'll be seeing you."

He manages a soft smile and raises his fingers to his lips, and then back to her, and for the final time, he turns and leaves.


"Finn," she murmurs, reaching her hand across the bed, searching for his warm, familiar body, when suddenly, it hits her. He's gone, and she doesn't know when (or if) she'll ever see him again.

Her heart leaps into her throat, constricting painfully when she thinks of him, even more so when she starts her daily routine—without him. She never realized just how lonely being alone was. She only really got to have Finn for a few months all to herself, and now he belongs to the country.

She understands in a way. But that doesn't mean she doesn't miss him. He doesn't know when he can write her, or if he can write her, but that doesn't stop her from getting her hopes up every time the mailman walks up the stoop to the boarding house and slips plain white envelops inside. She rifles through it with her ten-year-old neighbor, both missing someone dearly from the war.

She auditions for a real musical in early March, called Oklahoma! She's surprised when she gets a call a few days later congratulating her, and could she please meet them for rehearsal on the following dates. She's elated and can't wait to tell Finn, until she remembers—his ears aren't open to her, for now.

But later that week, there's a letter addressed to her in the mail, and she tears it open with excited fingers upon recognizing the familiar handwriting.

My darling,

War is not what I expected. I will spare you details, as I know you are uncomfortable with talking of this sort. I have a few moments to myself, for once, and I am taking the time to write you this letter. Baby, I miss you even more than I imagined, and I am looking ever forward to the day I return home. But I do enjoy fighting for my country—for you, and any children we may have, and for your freedom and safety.

I've met some nice guys here, but none of them are married and don't understand how I could miss a gal so much, but doll, they haven't met anyone like you. I must go, now, but know that I love you; I will always love you, no matter what.

Write back soon, love,

Your husband, Finn Christopher Hudson.

Her heart soars reading that he misses her, and sinks at the realization that this could be the last letter for a while—or forever. But she quickly dispels that thought and clutches the letter to her chest, happy to finally have word from him.


Baby girl,

I am writing to tell you that I am okay. I am alive. I love you. I miss you. I want to see you, and come home, and start a family. Good luck on opening night, love. I wish I could be there.

I'll be seeing you,


Her fingers close around the letter; relief thrumming in her veins, thanking God that he's alive. She hasn't heard from him in two months, the longest time they've ever gone without communicating, and any time she sees soldiers marching down the street in their fatigues, her heart beats a little faster, but they never come to the door of the boarding house.

One day, a week after Finn's letter reaches her, the army men enter the boarding house and clamber up the stairs, and her heart freezes when she hears the step slow outside her door before knocking on the next door, and even though she can hear Mrs. Williams' devastated wail, she is a little relieved that it's not her husband who has died.


She twirls a little in the snow, taking each little happiness with a grain of salt. It's the end of December in 1944, and for some reason, she has an inexplicable happiness invade her entire being. She hasn't heard from her husband in weeks, and that terrifies her, but she has a feeling something good is going to happen, and soon.

Her eyes find a woman, wrapped up in her husband's embrace, and she is suddenly hit with a wave of sorrow. Why, she wonders, why does that woman get to be happy and in love, while she is alone, her heart pledged to her soldier across the Atlantic Ocean?

Still, she can't very well begrudge a stranger for her happiness. Still, her heart yearns for her husband. Her play has had its last run, and thankfully, she has saved nearly all of the money she has earned. She just wants Finn to be home, safe in their bed.

To pass her amounting free time, Rachel has begun to give singing lessons to the boys and girls in the boarding house, starting with Sara Williams, who lives next door. Rachel sees a lot of herself in this lost, young girl, and wishes to help her overcome the loss of her father as best as she can.

In fact, as winter drips into spring, she even teaches a few of the shy, bashful teen boys to dance for their upcoming formals. The summer begins, and in early May, the war in Europe ends, but as she soon learns, that doesn't necessarily mean her missing-in-action husband will be arriving home from the war anytime soon.

The summer passes, long and hot, with heavy anxiety weighing in her stomach. When the president announces the end of the war, she cries tears of joy and celebrates through the night with the men and women of New York City, and in some way, all of America as the entire country rejoices in their shared victory. But still, that night his stark absence makes itself ever more present as the moonlight streams in through the window.

In early September, she's walking home from a lesson across the street, just in front of the boarding house when the owner grasps her arm and asks her how she's doing lately, and is it too hot up on that second floor? She shakes her head and thanks her for her concern, but heads upstairs to rest and grab a glass of water.

She feels odd as she takes the stairs, anticipation rising in her gut. It's an odd feeling for her, this pure hope untainted by any doubt. She isn't sure where it comes from, but she climbs the stairs faster to soothe it.

The apartment is in an advantageous location in the building in that it has the most windows and gets the most airflow, so it's somewhat cool when she pushes the door open. Oddly enough, she left the radio on, which surprises her, so she walks into the living room to turn it off and runs right into the person she least expected to run into.

"Hello, baby girl," he says tenderly, and she can't breathe, she can't breathe, because here he is, her man, her Finn, home, finally home. She flings her arms around him, feeling his muscles flex under her thin arms as her legs wind around his waist, and she feels herself start to cry as he kisses her, explosions bursting in the dark sky of her closed eyelids.

"Finn," she sighs, refusing to let go of him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He's safe, he's home, he's alive and still so completely in love with her, and he carries her to the bedroom, planting kisses all over her face and holding her close.

"Darling," he whispers, "Rachel, Rachel, Rachel." And she knows they need to talk, but for right now, all she needs is Finn.


He experiences terrible night terrors for a straight week before Rachel finally manages to get him to tell her about the war. She wrangles the stories out of his mouth, so frustrated she nearly raises her voice at him. He relays to her horrible tales, of Germany and Japan, the cold at the border of Russia and the awful concentration camps, and she cries as he tells her of the brutalities inflicted on other Jews—brutalities she had only heard rumors of before now.

Most nights fade into the early hours of the morning with the grey of dawn lightening the sky. She often finds herself singing to him on these nights until he manages to find some sort of peace of mind. Naturally, she can't fall of sleep, because all she wants to do is fix this, fix him, but she knows she has to give him time.


She twirls around the kitchen, waiting for her tea to boil, the words to 'I'll Be Seeing You' falling from her lips. Finn hasn't experienced any sort of nightmares for a few weeks and he seems to be back to normal—or rather, as normal as he can be these days. He even goes back to school, trying to finish the law degree he left behind.

"Darlin'?" He calls, pushing open the door with a loud bang. Grinning eagerly, she rushes to the door and kisses him square on the mouth. He smiles salaciously into her mouth, his fingers clasping around her waist and sliding down her back, squeezing her ass, which forces a squeal out of her mouth.

"Finn!" She exclaims, but he just presses his mouth back to hers, kicks back the door and lowers her to the ground.


A routine establishes once he is home. Weekdays are filled with her voice lessons and his classes; nights are spent doing whatever sort of activities they can come up with. Friday night they eat dinner with Quinn and Noah, and on Saturdays, they spend the day together and go dancing at night.

Suffice to say, they spend all their free time together, so he is genuinely surprised when Rachel isn't in bed one Saturday morning. "Doll?" He calls, heart pounding in a familiar terror, and he takes a deep breath to remind himself that he's safe, he's home, and more than likely, she's just in the kitchen, starting on chores.

He hears her muffled reply from the bathroom and rushes in to check on her. "Rachel," he says softly, crouching beside her on the ground. Her face rests against the side of the toilet, eyes screwed shut. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head and curls into his arms. His stomach clenches, because what if this is life threatening? What's he gonna do without his girl? He lifts her off the ground, pulling her close to his chest, and carries her into their bedroom. Depositing her on the bed, she curls under the quilt his mother sent them when he finally came home.

Her head isn't warm, which he thinks is a good sign. He decides to wait out this illness, but stays vigilant at her bedside. Around midday, her eyes open, and she smiles slowly at him. "How d'you feel?"

She sits up slowly and leans against the wall, slipping her fingers between his. "Just fine, darling," she assures him, "Must've been one of those day-long bugs." She attempts to get out of bed, but he pushes her back.

"I just—take it easy, Rachel. Just for today. Please?" She groans and shakes her head, but he leans in and kisses her softly. "For me?"

He knows he's got her, so he kisses her again, threading his fingers in her long, dark hair.


When this sickness persists for three days, he cajoles her to visit a doctor and refuses to allow her to go alone. But, as it turns out, he has an examination to take during her appointment, and therefore, she winds up skipping the doctor's appointments. She knows what her symptoms mean, and doesn't plan on visiting the doctor unless she has a concern.

So when the doctor calls right as Finn walks in the door, she rushes to pick up the phone and explain her absence with the littlest detail she can muster. Finn wouldn't be mad, per se, most likely just concerned. Just as she hangs up the phone, Finn wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her sweetly.

"How was the doctor's office?" He inquires as she pulls him into the dining area for dinner.

"Just fine," she explains briskly. He breathes in deep and smiles widely at her.

"My favorite? Doll, you didn't have to."

She smiles and runs her hand between his shoulder blades, "I wanted to." He leans up and tries to kiss her, but she gently pushes him away and motions to their plates, side by side, and sits in the chair beside him. During dinner, he talks about his day, and his face darkens when he mentions the discussions of the war that went on in some of his classes. She smoothes his clenched fist out, intertwining their fingers on top of the table.

She knows him, knows that when he gets like this, it can go a few ways. He'll get angry, anxious, or she'll be able to convince him to calm down. He peeks at her out of his peripheral vision and smiles tenderly at her. She can't believe how much she feels for him, still feels, after all these years with and without him by her side, through the letters and the absence of letters, and now, they're about to embark on the newest journey of their lives.

After they clean the dishes together, they curl up on the sofa and listen to a radio program. She takes this opportunity to tell him, so she sits up in his embrace and places her hand on his chest, over his heart. "Finn?" She begins quietly, "I have something to tell you."

"What is it, love?" His eyes search hers, looking for a sign or a clue, but he is thwarted as she casts her gaze downward.

"I didn't go to the doctor today."

"Now why's that?" He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Rachel, something could be seriously wrong with—"

"No," she interrupts, "I didn't need to go, because I already know what is wrong with me, but maybe wrong isn't the correct word—maybe right is."

"Baby girl, what in the heck are you talkin' about?"

She grasps his hand and places it against her flat abdomen. Realization dawns on his face and tears fill in her eyes as she says, "Finn, I'm pregnant."


She doesn't know how it's possible for Finn to become more protective than he already is, but in the aftermath of her revelation, he has defied her logic. She knows he means well, knows he's just nervous because of how much he loves her, but she enjoys the brisk three block walk to the Andersons' for voice lessons, and she refuses his suggestion that she halt the voice lessons.

Honestly, she's beginning to miss Broadway's gleaming stage, but knows that it'll be impossible for her to audition now, what with her baby on the way and her Finn looking out for her. When she brings it up to him, asks him to cool down a little, he nods and agrees. One thing she loves about Finn is that he would never, ever raise a hand to her, not like Mr. Anderson does to his wife, or even to his offbeat son, Blaine. She doesn't like to think about that, though, and focuses instead on her own little bubble of happiness.

Finally, after so many weeks and months and years of sorrow, of waiting for him, they can be happy and together, and completely in love.

One night, she wakes up in the middle of her sleep to find Finn, head propped on the heel of his hand, stroking her belly and talking to it. "You're going to be perfect, just like your mama, I know it."

Her hand joins his over her swollen skin. "And just as perfect as her daddy, don't forget," she reminds him and pulls his face up for a long kiss.

"Darlin', no one is more perfect than you." She kisses him again and again, eyes starting to droop from drowsiness as their limbs tangle together, and she winds up falling asleep on his arm.


"What should we name her?" He inquires softly, wrapping his arm around his wife's shoulders and stroking his baby girl's soft cheek.

"Eleanor Catherine Hudson," Rachel says softly. "What do you think? We could," she yawns, "call her Ellie for short."

He kisses her temple. "It's perfect, doll. Perfect." He wraps his hand around hers, holding it close, and he remembers the first time he saw her, and how she had completely enraptured him, and he could never have imagined this when he was eighteen-years-old.

"I love you," she murmurs, half asleep. He smiles and lifts their baby from her arms so she can sleep properly, and he presses a kiss to her mouth, whispering that he loves her more in her ear.


She has never been happier than she is singing in her own kitchen, not one that belongs to a boarding house owner or her father, but hers (well, half hers). Ellie hums along as best as she can, already becoming so musical at three years old. It's nearly time for her afternoon nap, so Rachel carries her upstairs and into her bedroom.

"Mama, sing," she pleads, curling under the covers. Rachel pushes back her unruly, light brown hair and smiles tenderly, singing a quiet song she knows will lull Ellie right to sleep.

She is about to begin cooking dinner when two familiar, strong arms wind around her waist and press a jewelry box into her surprised hands. "Finn!" She greets, surprised at his sudden appearance. She doesn't know what his fascination with surprising her is, or where it comes from, though she does recall a particularly intense night when he finally returned from the war.

His lips fall onto hers softly, and it's still so much like the first time, outside with the crickets and hazy summer evening swirling around them. But in a way it is completely different; they're standing in their own kitchen, completely changed from the children they used to be, with their own child to raise.

"Happy anniversary, love," he breathes against her ear. "Not a day goes by that I don't thank God for you."

She smiles and brings his lips down to hers momentarily. "Thank you, Finn," she says softly as her delicate fingers pluck the box open to showcase a pair of small, diamond earrings. "They're lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he responds. "What d'you say, baby, should we try for a boy tonight?"

She laughs, pats his cheek, and kisses him in response.